


of eye candy and take-out-fails

by soliloquium



Series: domesticity [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Gay, Hetalia, I Tried, M/M, Sort Of, Vignette, aph, gil has no self prservation, i'll get onto something more exciting next time i swear, mmmmmm cooking, this is literal fluff but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 23:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14862800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloquium/pseuds/soliloquium
Summary: in which Gilbert attempts to order fast food and Luciano plays mum.“Döners isn’t McDonald’s.”“That only serves to cross ‘sudden death’ off the list.”





	of eye candy and take-out-fails

**Author's Note:**

> this was for the prompt "cooking/baking" for the aphrarepairs2018 challenge on tumblr so I'm going to use that as the excuse for why it's short and literally just fluff. Only mildly satisfied but it's something okay. R&R

The tension in the air was suffocating, oppressive. The sort of vibe you'd run away from immediately if you had any common sense. Very few things elicited such deeply felt reactions from Luciano Barsotti. Very few things.  

"I won't degrade myself like this."

"Then don't." Gil said breezily, slipping out his phone with triumphant finality, "Just don’t salivate within five meters of me when you get a whiff of it’s succulent smell."

“A smell cannot be succulent, Gilbert. And I am distinctly not a bulldog. Should I bring out the dictionary again?”

Gilbert’s hands paused mid dial to peer over at him, trying hard to suppress an obscene grin that spoke of how much he was really enjoying this. He faked a contemplative hum. Stroked his chin mockingly for a few seconds, “you’re right. You’re way more of a cat person. Too moody and territorial.”

Luciano raised a judging eyebrow, taking this opportunity to snatch back the phone, “Totally. After the sounds you made last night, I’m the cat.” 

Gilbert blinked for a moment, gears in his mind turning, comprehending, emotions falling on him like very precisely placed dominoes. Embarrassment. Annoyance. A vague sense of gratification at the memory. An unpleasant blush now covered his features.

 “No, now you’re an ass,” he sulked, grieving both the loss of his phone and his dignity, “I don’t get why you’re so against this.”

“Because making sure my boyfriend doesn’t get heart disease is part of my daily check list.”

“Doners isn’t McDonald’s.”

“That only serves to cross ‘sudden death’ off the list.” 

“Because Italians are the paradigm of healthy diets, aren’t they, spaghetti man?” 

Luciano swiped at him halfheartedly, Gil twirling right out of his reach with a gasp and a skittish laugh. It was summer. It was warm, lazy air flitting through the windows. Curtains glowing faintly from the rays. Sunlight catching on dust motes like fairy dust. Reminded Gil vaguely of the stories from one of the famous writers of his house. Grimm brothers or something. Fitting name. They were morbid, eccentric people, or so he distantly recalled. 

"I'm dating a racist."

Gilbert poked his head up over the couch he had dived behind in one of his rare moments of self preservation. "It's not racist if you're actually. Built on the stereotype," Gil pointed out, caring more about annoying his boyfriend than the actual conversation.

"Not if the stereotypes are wrong."

"The amount of pasta stashed away suggests otherwise."

"It's a perfectly normal amount of pasta. You're just an uncultured swine." Luciano responded indignantly, slightly irritated and turning away from Gil and the couch shield he was hiding behind, " If you have something against it, take it up with Feliciano. He deals with dietary interests."

"Tragically, you're more fun to bother. So I'll stick to this."

“I’m making us food,” Luciano announced, moving coolly towards the kitchen, slipping Gil’s phone in his own pocket,  
“ You know, the type that isn’t just greasy pieces of meat stuck together by bread. It might look entirely foreign to someone with your shitty taste, so I’m just saying.” 

“You’re a saint.” Sarcastic words but Gil followed him like an eager puppy none the less, “or a prize house wife. Both titles work.”

“Stop, you flatter me too much.”  Luciano responded drily, preoccupied now with sifting through the ingredients. Homely sounds filled the room. Clanking of plates. The water tap. Microwave. Footsteps. Noises that made a place feel lived in. West had been busy lately. And Gilbert only now realized how much he coveted such humane domesticity. “So if I’m the house wife what does that make you?”

Gilbert grinned, plopping down on the granite counter top, “The eye-candy, naturally.”  

Birds chirped in the distance. The leaves from the trees in the garden rustled softly, sounding like sleepy snakes. The light breeze caressed at his hair, tugged gently at his clothes. Luciano's house was old. A hundred at least. Well maintained but there were scratches here and there.  scars and memories. Gil could tell Luci was attached- he so rarely was. It probably belonged to one of his loved humans, Gil mused, wondering if Luciano would ever explain. The kitchen especially held a sort of characteristic homely, rustic warmth. Earthy smells of spices and pastries clung to the wood beams and floor boards. 

Sitting still did not suit Gilbert well. Pin-pricked by restlessness, he coughed awkwardly, “So uh. You don’t need help, do you?”

“I don’t really relish the idea of  you with burn wounds. Or remodeling the kitchen. The later, mostly.”

An audible huff and a few seconds later, Luci felt warmth at his back and Gilbert’s arms incircle him. They were connected. Behind the thin cloth of his shirt, Gil’s heart was beating frantically, a trapped bird in his rib cage. 

 

“What are you doing exactly.”

“Being good eye candy.”

“You realize I can’t see you right now, yes? I’m half tempted to enroll you in primary school.”

Gilbert grunted, nuzzling deeper into his boyfriends shoulder. His breathing was slow, familiar now. The fabric against his nose was soft and smelt like Luci. A tired, content comfort. The burdens of “what if”s and “would be”s and warnings that came with being Them felt manageable in moments like these. A swell of complacency settled comfortably amongst the rest of Gil’s fragile organs. 

“I’m. Being a good boyfriend. “


End file.
